


Delicate and Timeless

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, NSFW, Rumbelle Secret Santa, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Gold has no worth to him, not when he spins so much of it. But to Rumpelstiltskin, Belle represents something far more precious, far more delicate and timeless. To him, she is rose gold.A Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for @whizzerlived





	Delicate and Timeless

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Pentatonix Rose Gold, Body Worship

 

Rose gold. That was the first thing that he thought when he saw her, standing there so defiant in her father’s war room, with her rose pink skin and her golden gown. He knew immediately that she was going to be important, that there was something about her that his mind would never allow him to let go of. He didn’t know how she was going to be important, not back then. He had never anticipated just how much he would grow to love and depend upon her. At the time, he had just known that he had stumbled by pure chance upon something very delicate and rare. Something like rose gold. So, on a whim, he had chosen her as his price, stating the need for a caretaker. It was true, after a fashion. He really did need a caretaker; the castle was filthy.

But as she correctly surmised, months later, he was lonely too, and he had known that she could be the one to ease that loneliness.

As Belle reads by the fire, Rumpelstiltskin watches the way the light plays off her skin, and even though they sit together here every evening and she reads whilst he spins, there is something about the sight of her like this that never fails to take his breath away, as her face and neck glow rose gold as the flames play off them. She looks so precious, and to him, she is the most precious thing in the world; her worth to him is infinitely more than any of the deals he cares to make. Rumpelstiltskin has long since given up believing in gods and faith and angels, but Belle… Belle he could worship for the rest of time. Her beauty is something from another world, and there is something about her that feels separate, a little bit distant, just out of reach, a part of her that he will never know and that she doesn’t even know herself yet. Yes, Rumpelstiltskin could worship Belle, kneel at her altar and pray to her good nature and her fierce compassion, and afterwards…

He looks away, turning his attention back to the wheel and staring at the straw at his feet, unable to look at her whilst his thoughts turn to the more carnal ways in which he would worship her beauty. He could spend hours going over every inch of her rose gold skin: the curve of her neck, the flowing lines of her limbs, the gentle swell of her breasts and whatever sweet secret lies between her thighs. His leather is getting tighter but he thinks nothing of it, preferring to stay in his fantasies of worshipping Belle’s beauty – if she would even let him touch her, as marred by darkness as he is.

Presently, she looks up.

“Is something the matter, Rumpel?” she asks, and he jerks out of the trance that she has held him in for these past few moments. He shakes his head.

“No, no, nothing.”

“You’ve stopped spinning,” Belle points out, looking at the idle wheel and the straw and golden thread lying limp in his hands.

“I don’t want to forget.”

He told her that he span to forget, and he never divulged any further details. But tonight, he does not want to forget. He wants the image of her here in the firelight to remain with him forever, for as long as he can keep it. She looks at him curiously, closing her book and tilting her head on one side, showing him that perfect swan-like neck.

“What don’t you want to forget?”

She moves closer then, coming across the room to settle on the spinning wheel’s bench beside him, and Rumpelstiltskin knows in that moment that there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from falling further and further into her deep blue eyes, the eyes that mesmerised him and made him want to keep her with him for as long as he could. He’s in love with this wonderful angel of a woman, and although she deserves so much better than he can give her, he can’t help himself.

“I don’t want to forget the way you look in the firelight.”

She bites her plump lower lip, diamonds sparkling in her eyes with the promise of something that Rumpelstiltskin can’t quite believe she would freely give.

“I like the way that you look in the firelight too,” she says. “Like you’re flecked with stardust.”

It’s not how he would describe himself, with his skin tainted by so many years of darkness and so many years of gold, so much gold that it’s almost a part of him now. Gold is meaningless to him, worthless; he has more than he could ever need.

Rose gold, though…

Now that still holds more value to him than he can explain, and Belle is its perfect embodiment.

Afterwards he will try to work out which one of them initiated that first kiss, and he will never come to a conclusion. She is his rose gold and he is her stardust, and they fit together in a way that Rumpelstiltskin has never fitted together with anyone before. It’s as if their lives were mapped out for them, and they had just been following the trail until they reached their final destination, here with each other. Rumpelstiltskin realises now just how important Belle will be to him, and that his first instinct back in her father’s war room when he saw her was correct. Her hand closes over his, her warm pink next to his cool grey-gold, and the contrast is striking, and in its own way beautiful.

Perhaps they can create their own rose gold together, something more precious than gold, something more delicate than diamonds.

X

It takes a long while for them to become lovers after that first kiss in the firelight. What they have is true, there can be no doubting that. Rumpelstiltskin can feel the swell of magic in his veins when her too-pink lips touch his, he can feel the love tearing at his curse and he clings to the darkness with all his might, knowing that when the moment has come and when the curse is cast and Baelfire is found, then he will let go of it without compunctions, and he will be her willing supplicant. As each day and each kiss brings them closer to that boundary, Rumpelstiltskin finds himself thinking more and more about that moment when he will be able to show her just how much he worships her, her soul, her beauty. It’s only fitting, he thinks, that when they do make love for the first time, it’s in front of the fire, with the light playing off her skin, illuminating her in that perfect way. The virginial blush in her cheeks works its way down her neck and chest and over her breasts as he peels away the layers of her clothing with the reverence that something so very precious deserves.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and Belle nods confidently, although still unable to stop the pink from rising in her face at this first time naked in front of a man, even one whom she loves with all her heart and who loves her in return. Rumpelstiltskin smiles as he lowers his mouth to hers. By the time he’s finished there will be no self-consciousness left, only pleasure and the knowledge that she is so very adored. It’s been a long time since Rumpelstiltskin last took pleasure with a woman, and whilst he feels a little nervousness at his ability to perform, he knows that this is all about Belle and her body and finding out just what touches will bring her that exquisite joy. Right now his own enjoyment is secondary in favour of savouring every inch of her skin. He’s thorough and methodical in his kisses, loving her with his tongue and lips as he moves from her mouth over her jaw and down her neck, leaving no space untouched. By the time he reaches her breasts and sucks hard on one rosebud nipple, she’s already gasping and writhing beneath him, her thighs squeezing around his hips and trying to pull him closer, pull him down towards where she wants him. Virginial she may be, but naïve Belle is not; Rumpelstiltskin knows that she has read more than enough books with less than pure subject matter during her time here in the castle, and he is delighted at the thought of being able to help her put some of that new-found knowledge to practical use.

He swirls his tongue over her puckered areolae; he could stay here for hours, lavishing attention on her beautiful breasts but there are other places to taste, and he works his way lower, encouraging her to let her legs fall apart and let him in between them. He breathes in the musky scent of her nether curls and dots her mound with kisses, finally slipping his tongue into her folds and lapping up the sweet juices there, the finest nectar he could ever hope to taste. She cries out with the sensation, her fingers carding into his hair, the tugging at his scalp almost painful and serving to ground him in the moment as his own arousal threatens to overwhelm him. But Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t mind. There’s nowhere that he would rather be than right here in the grip of the woman he loves, showing her just how much he loves her. He finds her swollen pearl, dragging the flat of his tongue over it and Belle screams, the sound almost alarming were it not for the expression of sheer bliss on her face as he glances up at her. It’s a sight he would give anything to see again, and he sets to work once more with renewed vigour, until Belle finally begs him to stop, to let her breathe, that so much pleasure is too much. She lies panting on the hearth rug, skin glowing and damp in the firelight, and Rumpelstiltskin waves a surreptitious hand to take care of the sticky mess in his trousers as he stretches out beside her. At length, once she has her breath back, Belle rolls over onto her stomach, playing with the ends of his wavy hair.

“You’re overdressed,” she murmurs, although she shows no signs of wanting to cover up again in spite of her earlier blushes.

“I’m not a pretty sight,” Rumpelstiltskin replies.

“I’m sure you’re beautiful. Painted in starlight.”

Her blue eyes, reflecting the fire’s flickering depths and her own fiery personality, are earnest, and it’s with a self-consciousness far greater than Belle’s own that Rumpelstiltskin lets her remove his clothing. When he has dreamed about worshipping Belle in this way, his own involvement in the matter has never really occurred to him. His primary concern has always been whether Belle would let him near her; he never considered the possibility that she would want to reciprocate his affections.

She maps his body with her slim fingers, touching him all over and learning the places to make him yelp with pleasure. Their second time is just as languid as their first, just as tactile and full of heady kisses as he moves in her and her fingernails dig into his back, claiming him for her own. He’s always known that he was hers, from the moment he picked her out in the war room, but now it’s forever, indelible and timeless.

They don’t just make love in the firelight, although they both agree that the hearthrug is their favourite place to enjoy each other. Rumpelstiltskin worships Belle in his bed, in hers; he stretches her out on the table in the grand hall, against the spinning wheel, and when the weather is warmer, outside in the luscious green grounds. He enjoys bringing her pleasure more than he enjoys his own, although he does not deny her when Belle pins him down, a saucy glint in her eye that he could never have imagined there a few months ago, and tells him that she wants to reciprocate all the wonderful times he’s made her fall apart with just his silver tongue.

The time for the curse casting is drawing ever closer, and they are lying together under the venerable old oak tree that takes pride of place in his ragtag gardens, watching as the last rays of the summer sun fade and the stars come into view.

“We could be stars,” Belle says presently, her pale fingers tracing over his gold chest, the perfect contrast that they’ve always embodied. “My mother always said that when they die, the people we love live on in the stars. There are new stars in the sky every day. We could be stars, some day. And we’d always know where to find each other.”

They both know that the curse is likely to tear them apart until it can be broken, but they accept that it’s the price that they must pay in order to be reunited with Baelfire. Rumpelstiltskin hopes that the next time he sees Belle, it will not be in the stars, and that they have many more years of timeless happiness ahead of them.

X

Mr Gold feels that there is a lot more to Lacey French than meets the eye. He’s not sure what it is about her, but for as long as he has lived in this town and as long as Lacey has also lived in it, he has been certain that something lurks below the surface and he’s been determined to uncover it. He watches her from afar, and he wonders why sometimes he gets the vaguest memory of her naked skin glowing rose gold in firelight. He knows he’s not the only man in town to fantasise about Lacey French in the raw; but he knows that he is not one of the lucky few who has ever seen that that sight. But the daydreams he has are so vivid that they’re almost like memories. He’s said it a few times to the people around the town when they feel that something doesn’t quite add up. Dreams are just memories, really. Memories of another life. He’s not entirely sure that he believes it himself and he’s really not sure where the sentiment has come from, but it’s one that he can’t get out of his mind.

Just like he can’t get the image of Lacey writhing on a hearth rug under his touch out of his mind. Something about it feels so right and real, like it fits perfectly with a long-forgotten part of his life that has been seamlessly lost to the annals of time, as if it never existed in the first place. All he knows is that for all his fantasies, they are unlikely ever to become a reality. Lacey is not the type of girl to go after the likes of him, and considering his rather antagonistic relationship with her father when it comes to the rent, he’s really in no position to ingratiate himself with her. Sometimes he wonders if perhaps she would consider dating him to spite her parent – their relationship is as rocky as her relationships with everyone else in the town at the best of times. Ultimately, he dismisses the notion, content to watch her from afar and take solace in his lonely daydreams.

Until the day that Emma Swan drives into town and everything begins to change.

Waking up is almost like a rebirth, and it takes every ounce of Rumpelstiltskin’s composure not to stand still in his tracks when he hears her name and everything comes rushing back to him, the memories of another life suddenly flooding through his mind and reminding him that yes, there was another life as well as these false memories that have been playing themselves on an unbreakable loop for nigh on thirty years. It’s as if the world has always been in black and white before that moment, and now the colour that it was holding back has burst at the seams and flown through the streets into his life. Everything seems sharper now, his life is clearer and his purpose here in the Land Without Magic is clearer still. And then there’s Belle, Lacey as she is now. Those dreams he’s been entertaining all these years without hope of ever seeing them become reality were indeed already reality. He almost cries out for joy at the sudden knowledge that Belle is here with him in Storybrooke, so very close and unharmed for everything that they have been through, still here despite Regina’s attempts to drive everyone away from their happy endings.

Once he is no longer in the inn and there is no-one around that he must keep his mask up for, Rumpelstiltskin takes a moment to consider the situation. As euphoric as he felt in that first moment of waking, melancholy is setting in as he knows that although Belle is here, she is not yet Belle. She is Lacey at the moment, and her own memories of those glorious moments they spent together are still just heady dreams. He refuses to believe that she doesn’t have the same kind of dreams as he does, although she has probably buried hers far lower in her subconscious out of confusion. Any man whose interests lean that way would dream happily about Lacey, but someone as young and vibrant as Lacey might find it odd to dream of the old, lame pawnbroker across the street who keeps threatening to evict her.

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind, reasoning that the curse will lift and Belle will remember in her own time; now that Emma has returned it is only a matter of time before Regina’s hold on the curse begins to weaken and the saviour begins to fulfil her destiny. There is a lot to be prepared and he needs to start his search for Baelfire as soon as possible.

But he’s been without Belle and without the comfort of her love and the adoration of her body for so long now, and when he returns to his large and very empty house, stuffed to the rafters with trinkets and antiques that he has no use for, but so devoid of human touch, he cannot stop thinking about her. He remembers their very last night together before the curse hit, knowing that it would be the last time he would be able to make love to her for a very long time. He kissed every inch of her skin, leaving no part of her unclaimed by his tongue, burying his face between her thighs for what felt like blissful hours, licking her to completion again and again until she could take no more and begged for him to stop and let her breathe, and let her return the favour. They were still sprawled on his silk sheets, sweaty and sticky and thoroughly sated, as the sun began to rise. The last image he had of Belle before the curse rolled over them was swathes of her soft skin, a perfect rose gold.

Settling himself in his favourite chair, Rumpelstiltskin lets the memories wash over him, reliving them as clearly as if it were the first time, and for the first time here in Storybrooke, he can enjoy the image of Lacey French without any clawing guilt that she’s too good for him, that she would never choose him, that she would be disgusted at the thought of him pleasuring himself to her picture. Because it’s Belle that he sees as he unzips and frees his straining cock, and Belle has already chosen him and knows how much he loves her, how much he loves her body and how much he loves to worship the very essence of her skin. His touches are quick and functional, bringing himself to his climax without ceremony. In their intimate life, it was always Belle’s orgasm that he took his time over, his own felt secondary somehow. Giving pleasure to her feels just as good to him as it does to her, and the longer he can drag it out, the sweeter the reward when his own release does come. It’s only him tonight though, and there is no need to stretch the deed out. Spent, his member flaccid in his hand, Rumpelstiltskin finally opens his eyes. The relief in him is palpable; perhaps he had not realised just how much he needed it.

Tomorrow, perhaps, he will make the effort to talk to Lacey French, and plant the seeds of doubt in her mind that might make her wonder whether her dreams are really dreams, and coax her on down the path to remembrance. The day when the curse breaks fully and he can love her again in the flesh cannot come too soon.

X

When the curse breaks, it’s almost like a movie scene. Rumpelstiltskin feels like everything ought to be in soft focus and slow motion, with desaturated stylised colours like the films he has seen so often during these long and monotonous years. He’s in his shop when it happens, and since he is already awake he might have been forgiven for not noticing any difference in the town, were it not for the wave of pure magic that pulls through the place, casting everything in a rainbow light for a few moments and making him gasp as he feels the pulse of it. The curse is broken, and for a long time, Rumpelstiltskin does not dare to move. It’s not out of any fear of the townsfolk’s reactions to him now that they can all remember exactly who he is and the many deals that they have all made with him in the past, but because now, at last, after these agonising weeks of being the only one in the know, Belle will also remember. She will remember him, and, with any luck, she will remember the love that they shared. She will remember the way that he made love to her back in the Dark Castle just as he remembers every detail of her body, every nuance in the taste of her mouth. He wonders if she will remember in as much detail as he does, and whether she will come back to him now that she has these two sets of memories in parallel, knowing him as he was in the Enchanted Forest but also as he is now, the magician who sparkled like diamonds at odds with the lame pawnbroker and scourge of the town. Will she even come back? All he has wanted to do since he woke up from this curse has been to kiss Belle, to love her and worship her once again. Will she want the same, or has the novelty of this new world and the freedoms and new opportunities it offers tempted her to follow a new path?

But he need not have worried, because only a few moments later, the door of the pawn shop opens and the bell tinkles, and that is when the movie begins, the soft light of the day outside casting Belle’s silhouette in beautiful rose gold, the way he had always seen her in the castle. She stands in the open doorway, and although she wears Lacey’s outlandish outfits with her hairspray turned up to eleven, there is no mistaking that the woman in front of him is his beautiful, wonderful Belle, returned to him to let him worship her once more. He had told her once that she was a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness that had been his life before he met her, and here she is now, bringing the light into this dark and dismal shop.

“Rumpel?” she begins, her voice gentle and unsure. “Is that you?”

Rumpelstiltskin steps out from behind the counter, and despite every clue to the contrary, a small part of him can’t believe that he’s not dreaming. He’s thought about this moment so often since he awoke and remembered everything that he thinks he might have got too carried away in the fantasy. Belle takes another couple of steps towards him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in that way she has, drawing the blood up to her lips and making them so plump and kissable.

“Hello Belle,” he says.

She breaks into the most brilliant sunny smile then, and before Rumpelstiltskin can protest – not that he would want to – she’s in his arms, kissing him as if her life depends on it, as though she’s been starved of him for so long and he is the only thing that can sate her hunger. The hunger deep in Rumpelstiltskin’s own gut is also roaring into fresh life as he feels Belle’s body under his hands for the first time in far too long, his fingers gliding over her supple curves, mapping every inch of her like he’s done so many times before.

At length though, he has to break away, and when he does, he sees that Belle’s eyes are sparkling like diamonds and he reaches up to brush the unshed tears away before they can fall.

“I love you,” Belle whispers, her voice barely above a breath, and she buries her face in his shoulder, breathing him in. He smells different in this world, Rumpelstiltskin knows that. Here he is expensive cologne and whisky instead of gold and dark magic, but Belle is smiling against his coat and he thinks she likes the change.

“I’ve missed you,” she says. “I didn’t even know what I was missing until the curse broke, but now I remember that it’s you.” She leans into his touch a little further and a small smile creeps over her face. “Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”

“Oh yes. I missed you so much, my darling Belle.”

“Has it really been twenty-eight years since the curse was cast?” There’s a playfulness in her tone, a husky note in her voice that Rumpelstiltskin still recognises even after so long without it in his ears, and he knows exactly where this conversation is headed.

“Do you think that we ought to make up for lost time?” he suggests. There is so much upheaval going on in the town, he can tell that from the commotion that has begun outside the shop. There will be a lot of things to sort out and considering the number of magical artefacts that he houses here, it will not be long before the mob descends, demanding answers and reparations. A part of him knows that it would be irresponsible to retire into their little private cocoon and ignore the rest of the town, but the majority of him really doesn’t care. Since when have the princes and princesses of the realms ever paid any attention to him and Belle, unless they needed something? Well, he and Belle don’t need anything except each other, and the rest of the town can wait for them to be ready to face what’s happening outside.

“I don’t know,” Belle says, but there’s no indecision in her words, just a teasing tone. “It depends on whether you would still worship me as you did before. It has been twenty-eight years, after all.”

Belle has not changed in these twenty-eight years, and neither has he. Her body has become timeless and unchanging, just as his had been back in the Enchanted Forest. He does not look the same, but he is as static as he has always been. Even if Belle had been aging through these past three decades, Rumpelstiltskin can think of nothing that he would rather do than worship every inch of her skin. Hers is a classic beauty, one that will never die, because it comes from the depths of her very soul and reflects her exquisite goodness in her face.

“Oh Belle, you should never doubt your desirability in my eyes.”

Her smile becomes feline and seductive, and the hand trailing down his chest latches onto his tie, pulling him in sharply for another kiss.

“In that case,” she purrs, “I think that we should definitely start making up for lost time.”

Rumpelstiltskin breaks away from her long enough to ensure that the shop door is locked and bolted and the closed sign is in place, not that this is likely to deter the rest of the town when it comes down to it, but it’s a start. He leads her through into the back room, closing the blinds so that only the little slivers of the evening sun will filter through, brilliant little stripes of the same rose gold that makes Belle shine so brightly. It’s not the most ideal place for their reunion. In the most perfect world, he would want to give her the silk sheets on his big bed back in his lonely pink house, but there is no time for that, not now. There is an urgency in this moment that can’t be broken, and the little part of Rumpelstiltskin that still worries that this is all a dream does not want anything to break this spell that he’s under. Despite their surroundings, this is perfect, and it’s the story of their lives in a way: strange circumstances and strange locales, but always there for each other no matter what, and as long as they have each other, then nothing else in the world seems to matter. Right now, Belle is the only important thing, and Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth is watering with the anticipation of finally being able to press his lips against her skin and experience her taste once more. They continue to kiss with the passion and urgency that has been denied them for so very long, and in a whirl of clumsy fumbling, Rumpelstiltskin manages to back Belle up towards the little couch along the wall until the backs of her knees hit the frame and she sits down on it heavily. There’s promise in her face as she looks up at him, playing with his tie and then moving her fingers down towards his belt, where the first stirrings are becoming ever more apparent.

“Show me how much you missed me, Rumpel,” she breathes. “Show me how much you want me.” She inches her thighs apart until her legs are wide and her tiny skirt is riding up, leaving little to the imagination, and as ever, Rumpelstiltskin is powerless to disobey her. He gets to his knees, ignoring the fact that his ankle is protesting in this land without magic and that he might not be able to get up again, and he pushes Belle’s skirt up around her hips. The gusset of her tiny panties has a dark, damp spot, and he runs one fingertip along her slit through the fabric, desperate for a taste. Belle takes it a step further, grabbing the hem of her dress and pulling the thing off in one swift motion, leaving her bare but for the panties and her ridiculously high heels. The sight is a heady one, and he hopes that he can get her to keep the shoes on.

“You’ve really missed me, haven’t you?” Belle says, leaning back on the couch and pushing her naked breasts forward, inviting him to close his lips around one perky nipple and lavish her with attention.

“So much, my love,” he gasps, transferring his ministrations to her other breast. Her skin tastes like honeyed heaven, just the way she has always tasted, and his mouth waters with it. She tastes like coming home after a long absence, and he has missed this taste more than he can say. “These past weeks since Emma arrived and I woke up have been torture without you.”

He pushes her flat on her back and begins to kiss his way down her body; Belle’s hands in his hair are urging him downwards towards her musky centre. Ordinarily he would want to take his time and he would kiss and tease her happily for hours before he even came close to that sweetness. But their worship need not always be drawn out and languid, and he can show her his devotion with haste if the occasion calls for it. There will be time for rediscovery and remapping later. Now, he is Belle’s willing servant and if she doesn’t want to wait, then he doesn’t either. He kisses over her stomach and reaches the waistband of her panties, taking them between his teeth and dragging them down, revealing her sex smooth and pink and hairless. It’s not a sight that he’s seen before, used to the thick, unruly curls she wore in the Dark Castle and that he loved to sink his nose into.

Mistaking his surprise and wonder for something negative, Belle covers herself, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“Lacey wasn’t a fan of the natural look,” she murmurs, but Rumpelstiltskin nudges her hand out of the way, pressing kisses all over her mound and swiping his tongue up her slit.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “Every part of you, my love.”

It’s been so long since his face was last between her thighs, but she has not changed, and nor have the things she likes. Despite the lonely years gone by, he can still remember they way to swipe his tongue around her clit to make her moan, the way to lick at her entrance until she wriggles with pleasure. His adoration of her really knows no bounds, and as he feels her ankles cross and her heels dig into his back, Rumpelstiltskin knows that in this moment there is nowhere that he would rather be than right here, with the essence of her pleasure coating his tongue. If he’s died and gone to heaven then this is happily how he will spend his eternity, lost in Belle like this, drinking down her juices as she comes with a breathy groan of his name.

“Oh Rumpel, Rumpel,” she says, her voice shaky and almost a sob. “Oh Rumpel, I’ve missed you so much.”

He peppers kisses to the inside of her thighs, content to build her up to a second round already, but Belle pulls him up so that she can kiss him again, licking herself off his lips and snaking a hand down his body to cup his heavy crotch, his own arousal forgotten in the heat of the moment until she brings his attention back to it.

“Let me see you,” she says. “Let me love this new skin of yours like I did the old.”

Rumpelstiltskin is aware that he looks different in this world, far different, but it is with the same self-consciousness that he undresses to reveal his body to her for what feels like the first time, even though they’ve been naked together so many times before. Here in Storybrooke his human flaws are all too easily visible without the veil of magic upon them, and he doesn’t want Belle to see them, but as he reveals himself piece by piece, her reaction is far from unpleasant. They lie together on the couch, drinking each other in and touching each other all over, fascinated by the new and starved for the old in equal measure. As Belle’s fingers entwine with his and she brings their hands to rest over his heart, Rumpelstiltskin realises that for the first time, they match, their skin no longer a beautiful contrast to each other but now a subtle compliment. His hands are more tanned next to her pale fingers, but together they’re still rose gold, just perhaps a different shade. It gives him hope, making him think that no matter what this new world might throw at them, no matter where they might go as they try to reunite with his son, they will remain strong together, the steady beating of their hearts a rhythm to the anthem of their love. After so long apart, their tale has woven its way back together, and this delicate thing that they share will remain timeless, classic, rose gold.


End file.
